The Unfortunate Four
by AuthorOfTheHorizon
Summary: There is a prophesy, of a great and powerful hero that would save the world from the dragons! This... isn't about him. Four friends must survive dragons, dungeons, assassins, a war, and even Khajit poetry.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The plains of Whiterun were calm in the still evening air. The stars shone above, moths flittered about, and torchbugs blinked on and off. All was peaceful, the way nature tended to be whe-

"By the divines, just put it down!" A strong Nordic voice cut through the air. The source came from a small camp just to the side of the road, nearly halfway between the village of Rorikstead, and the towering wood and stone of Dragonsreach Castle. Four hide sleeping bags were arranged around a campfire, bundles of clothing used as pillows.

The owner of the voice that had disturbed the peace belonged to a tall, ginger-haired Nord. The man had fair skin and stood a full head above the next tallest of his companions. The Nord was rather well bulked up with muscle, but his eyes were softer, more kind and jovial. Well, they usually were, at least. He wore thick steel armor, courtesy of his father in Windhelm. A Nordic great sword hung on his back, suspended by leather straps. He currently was trying to talk down a friend that seemed to have gone off the deep end.

Next to him, sitting on her sleeping bag, was a dark skinned Dunmer, or a dark elf for you simpler folk. She had blood red hair tied back in an intricate braid that disappeared into her pulled down leather hood. She wore a rather discrete outfit, the only noticeable feature to the leather boots, trousers, and jacket were the abundance of pockets, making it easy to conceal small items. A cloak was attached around the collar of the jacket, making the pockets themselves easy to hide. Her yellow elf eyes watched the scene in front of her, mildly entertained.

On the other side of the campfire was a Khajit with dark red fur, and even darker shades on his face and the back of his arms. Unlike the rest of his companions, he had simply chosen normal clothes and a large backpack. His eyes were a soft blue, looking at the fourth companion pleadingly. His hands were clasped together, and his eyes were staring at what his companion held, cat ears twitching anxiously.

The fourth of this rather strange group was an Imperial of average height and build. He had wavy black hair hanging just past his chin, tan skin, and light brown eyes. He was dressed in a mage outfit, light grey with blue accents. The hood of his outfit was down as his face was lit by the light of not one fire, but two. In his left hand was a colorful lute, hand crafted at he Bard's college in Solitude. His other hand contained a ball of summoned fire, which was held right under the lute.

"I told you all that I'd turn this thing to ash if you played it at night one more time! I can't sleep!" Carilles, the Imperial pitching a fit, shouted.

"Please, don't! It'll cost Husato more than he makes in a week to replace!" Husato, the third-person speaking Khajit, pleaded.

"We can talk this out, just calm down, and we can sleep on the issue and talk in the morning." The large Nord, Burknolf, tried to keep the peace in his circle of friends.

"Do it! I want to see if fur ball can kick your Imperial a-" Felsrana, the shifty looking Dunmer, said, trying to provoke a fight. She was cut off by Carilles following through on his threat.

The lute disappeared in a plume of fire, only so much ash moments later. Calming himself, Carilles looked at Husato. Husato stared back, one hand reaching for his bulky bag.

"Husato didn't want to have to do this… but he must." The Khajit grasped something in his bag. A dull orange glow emanated from the wood, which otherwise looked like an exact replica of the lute. Carilles's eyes widened as he dropped to his knees.

"Nooooo!" He yelled up at the sky! He knew that glow. A fire proof enchantment, a staple in his childhood home. Husato grinned, ready to take revenge by playing more. Before he could get one good strum of the instrument in, he realized it was already missing. Felsrana returned to Bruknolf, giving the lute to him.

"I'm taking this for the night, we can talk in the morning." He sighed, rubbing his brow with his free hand. "Good night." He turned, tossing it on his bag, and laying back down. Felsrana followed his example by laying next to him, close enough that one could easily gather that they were indeed together.

Husato and Carilles glared at each other, but soon were asleep under the stars. Finally, for a little while at least, peace reigned once more in the plains of Whiterun.

The next morning was nowhere near as eventful. Husato got his lute back and strummed it softly as the quartet walked down the road. They discussed the recent news of Helgen being destroyed, though the part of a dragon being responsible was passed off as tall tales and rumors. Soon, the city of Whiterun was visible ahead. The tall form of Dragonsreach was an easy landmark to follow, provided one stayed by the path to avoid the Giants that liked to camp deeper in the plains.

"I'm telling you, there is no such thing as dragons in Tamriel! It's just some old guy's spin on some bandit raid to make people actually pay attention to him." Carilles said to Bruknolf. The big nord shook his head.

"Bandits couldn't destroy a whole town in minutes, Carilles." He said. He was about to say more as they rounded a bend, only to see and hear a large dragon slam into the ground near a flaming guard tower. As the beast struggled to get back up, a man in iron armor and wielding a sword and shield ran up to it. With a leap off of what remained of a brick wall, he landed squarely on the dragon's head. It tried to shake him off but failed as the man drove the iron sword right down into its skull. The Dragon collapsed, and its flesh began to burn away. The golden mist that formed instead of smoke flowed to the dragon slayer in a dazzling display.

The four travelers stood, shocked at the display they had just witnessed. Finally, Burknolf spoke to Carilles.

"That's some Bandit Raid."


	2. Chapter 1

**Unfortunate 4 **

**Chapter 1**

All Whiterun was in shock. Only half a kilometer away, the western watchtower had been besieged by a dragon. Luckily, a hero was able to defeat the beast, and protect the city. The citizens were buzzing with gossip and rumors, everyone eager to meet the hero when he returned.

Felsrana was happy too. Not to meet the hero, or that they were all still alive. No, she was happy everyone was distracted. She slinked through the city, slipping a few septims away from each person she came past. She had a sizeable haul once she returned to the Bannered Mare Inn. Burknolf and Husato were sitting at one of the tables, Burknolf nursing a bruised eye with a healing ointment. Husato was strumming on his fire proof lute, singing in his weird way.

_"__-And D'ala said to Husato, 'hurry, J'sar is on his way!_

_If he sees you, D'ala and Husato will pay! '_

_So Husato ran, like he was in a race_

_Tried to get away from the place!_

_ "__But J'sar knew, D'ala had not been true_

_And as Husato flew, he got hit with a sho- ack!"_

As if the song were a divine prophesy, a shoe indeed thwacked against the back of Husato's head.

"Shut up already! I told you, we don't need a bard!" The barmaid said, walking over to retrieve her shoe. Husato grumbled, put the lute back in his bag, and crossed his arms to pout.

"Practicing your singing again, or was that coughing up a hairball?" Felsrana asked as she sat down next to Burknolf. "And what happened to you, big guy? Pick a fight with an orc again?"

"No! It was a Nord…" Burknolf sighed.

"Well, did you win?"

"…No…"

"Hmph…" Felsrana mushed, sitting back. "Well, he must've been tough, then."

"…" Burknolf looked at his lap and grumbled. "… She was tough." He admitted, causing a burst of laughter to erupt from some of the patrons. It seemed he wouldn't get to live this down for a while.

Felsrana chuckled and emptied her many pockets to begin counting her money. All in all, she had swiped about two hundred septims. Spreading that out amongst the citizens of Whiterun, they'd hardly notice.

"Felsrana, what did I tell you about stealing?" Burknolf asked in a low tone, looking his dark elf partner in the eye.

"… To not do it until we're about to leave a town?" She replied, a bit agitated. Thievery was in her blood and being denied using her talents got frustrating.

"Exactly. So, I don't want to see any more coin finding it's way into your pocket in any way but an honest one until we leave, got it?"

"Ugh, fine." She pouted. "Hey, where is Carilles?"

"That one is up at the castle, says something of meeting with the court wizard." Husato replied. "Husato never liked magic. Too flashy and it takes too much time to learn. Does not understand why Carilles takes to it so much. The man isn't a natural to it."

"Go easy on him. He's the only one of us that can even use magic. That's more useful than playing a lute at ungodly hours of the night." Burknolf retorted. "Besides, he only lights something on fire by accident half the time."

With those words, Carilles quietly entered the tavern. He had his mage hood pulled up and seemed to be avoiding attention. "We need to leave, now." He whispered to his companions.

"What? Why?" Burknolf asked, sitting up. "… What did you do?"

"Nothing, I just think that its best if we move on, in a hurry." Carilles replied nervously.

"By the Divines… Felsrana, Husato, pack up." Burknolf sighed and began to pack his things up. In a few minutes, they were walking out the front gate of Whiterun. They had barely reached the stables outside the city's stone walls when there was a muffled explosion from the castle, then shouts among the guards.

"Okay, spill it. What did you do?" Felsrana questioned Carilles as the quartet walked faster.

"First, I'd like to point out that this is not entirely my fault." He began, looking straight ahead. "I bought a spell tome for fire runes. I was trying to create one, but nothing happened. No matter how many times I tried…. Turns out I was accidently creating them throughout the castle. They shouldn't seriously wound anyone, but I won't be welcome here for a while."

His three friends stopped and looked at him, both horrified and impressed with the scale of his mistake. Eventually, the bard of the group spoke up.

"Even Husato did not know you could mess up that bad at magic." The Khajit chuckled, shaking his head. "Do not worry, this one will comfort you with music." He said, beginning to pull out his lute.

"No, definitely not." Burknolf said, raising a finger at his furry companion. "Right now, we should just head south. We can get out of the hold quickest through Riverwood. Then we'll head through Falkreath and go east towards Riften.

"Are you kidding? That's four more days of walking. And I thought we were heading to Windhelm." Felsrana spoke up.

"Look, it takes longer to get away from Whiterun if we head straight east. If we go south first, we can follow the southern road east to Riften. We'll be fine. If your feet get tired, I'll carry you." Burknolf smiled at his girl, who sighed in embarrassment. She didn't like Burknolf babying her, and he knew it. It was his way of stopping her complaints.

"Can you carry this one too?" Husato asked, then laughed as the tall Nord glared at him.

"I'm fine with the plan. Anything to-" Another explosion, a little fainter as they kept walking. "Yep, anything to get away from here." Carilles said, gripping the edges of his hood as they began to climb the path up to Riverwood.

**Riverwood**

Riverwood was a small, lumber-centric village. It dominated the White River upstream and south of Whiterun. The homes themselves were placed between two mountains. The smaller one to the west was topped by Bleak Falls Barrow, an ancient burial ground for Nordic warriors. To the east stood The Throat of the World. The appropriately named mountain was the highest point on the continent of Tamriel, and possibly the highest in all the world of Nirn.

The quartet of unlucky adventurers walked into town from the north, Whiterun having long since been forgotten in the trees.

"The trees remind this one of home, Pelletine. The trees here are smaller, but no less imposing…" Husato mused aloud, staring up at the towering alpine trees. They passed through one of the gateless stone walls that guarded the roads into the small town. On the right was the White river, cutting through the forest valley. Built on a small island that split the river was a lumbermill. The workers would saw the lumber, then float it down river in bundles to buyers in Whiterun. The stone paved road hugged the river bank, only a blacksmith on that side of it. On the left stood an Inn, a trading post, and several homes.

"We should stay at the inn tonight." Burknolf advised, turning to look back at his companions.

"That sounds good. I'll head over to the trader and see if I can get some coin for some of my spell tomes." Carilles nodded, finally letting his hood down.

"I'll go with him. Maybe I can find something useful to buy, courtesy of the people of Whiterun." Felsrana grinned.

Husato followed Burknolf to the Sleeping Giant Inn. They were met by an anxious looking barmaid by the name of Delphine. Husato decided to try his luck flirting with her, which was already going horribly as Burknolf bought a bottle of mead and went to sit down. As he was about to settle into a chair to relax, a man called to him.

"You, good sir! How would you like to make a wager?" A rather normal looking Breton man offered. Intrigued, and never one to turn down a challenge, Burknolf sat across the small table from him.

"What kind of wager?"

"Why, a drinking contest!" The man said excitedly. "Let's say the winner gets a hundred septims from the loser?"

"Hmmm, I can't turn that down." Burknolf smirked. "My name is Burknolf Jarikson." The Breton's mouth curved into a wry smile.

"Sam Guevenne. It's a pleasure to meet your aquaintance."


End file.
